Past Forward- A Serial Novel: Volume 6

by Chautona Havig

  “She’s just sitting there,” Becca whispered. “I couldn’t get her to respond to me.”

  “I’ll see what’s up. Did you get the milking done?”

  She shook her head. “I came in to ask if she needed me to take clothes to the Laundromat after I got done with my stuff and found her like that. The kids were screaming—”

  As if her cue, Kari screeched. Chad glanced at Willow, but she didn’t move—didn’t even flinch. “Whoa. Okay, yeah. Um, we need help. Can you call Iris Landry? She can do the laundry—no jokes about Landry/laundry—and you can keep the kids or take them to the Finleys or maybe Lily Allen would watch them. Something. The plumber is coming today to run the water for the new washer in the barn, but we need clean clothes now.”

  “Oh!” Becca led him into the kitchen. “I forgot. Lily said that she and Tabitha would do the laundry for us if we’d just drop it off. I can do that and then take the kids to the Finleys. Think they’d keep them overnight?”

  Chad’s eyes widened. “Do you think—”

  “I think it’s time, and she doesn’t need to worry about whether Kari needs a new diaper or correcting the boys for getting into something or squabbling.” Becca reached out and squeezed Chad’s arm. “I’m so sorry.”

  “I didn’t expect this—not from her. She’s so strong.”

  “I think it’s always harder for parents to bury their children than for children to bury their parents. I don’t know, I’ve never done either, but from what I’ve seen…”

  While Chad waited for the house to empty, he did the morning chores. The boys protested his gathering the eggs without them, and Redundant protested the delay in what Willow persisted in calling “teat relief.” It took an hour before he joined her on the couch, but Willow hardly reacted to his arrival at all. “Lass?”

  Her response—a sigh.

  “We’re worried about you.” Once more, she said and showed no response at all. “Can you look at me at least?”

  Willow turned, the tears he expected absent from her eyes and no traces of them on her face. “It’s starting.”

  “I know.” He hugged her close, fighting back the emotion she seemed incapable of expressing. “I know.”

  “I hoped…” Whatever she started to say dissolved into nothingness.

  Seconds grew into minutes before Chad kissed the top of her head and whispered, “I know,” once more.

  Chapter 211

  Papers, pictures, drawings—the dining room table groaned with the piles of plans as Ralph Myner spread a suitcase full of ideas across it. “I’ve been calling developers in Indiana, Illinois, California, and Vermont. There are several places like I’ve envisioned, but all are a bit more tourist oriented than what I wanted.”

  “You said,” Bill said as he glanced over the proposed prospectus, “you don’t plan to sell lots?”

  “No, that’s right.” Ralph pulled out the white board he’d purchased and began sketching out his ideas in broad, black strokes. “I envision this as a corporation. I’m in business. I know that side of things. I also know that covenant communities change with the flow and, well…”

  Willow shook her head. “What is a covenant community again?”

  Before Ralph could give a textbook definition, Bill laughed. “Where a group of people tell a landowner what he can or can’t do with his own land.”

  “Glad to hear you’re not doing that,” Willow agreed.

  “Well, but in a sense I am—sort of.” Ralph pointed to one corner of the whiteboard. “I’m just doing it before he invests. When you invest in in a software company, you don’t expect to be able to dictate which software is developed with your dollars or where the company will expand. You’re investing to increase your quality of life—financially. With this program, people will be investing to improve their quality of life physically—just with a financial investment.”

  “So you still own the property. If it fails, they lose their money like any other investment.” Bill flipped a few pages. “Is that right?”

  “Exactly. It’s the only way I can, in good conscience, restrict how people use the property. They only own the financial interest in it, not the actual real property.”

  The discussion continued—from optimal places to build to the number of initial investors needed to ensure that the venture didn’t destroy Ralph’s retirement fund. Willow shot down idea after idea until she grew apologetic. “I feel like I’m crushing your dreams, but you can’t promise that. People who do not know how to garden can’t hope to raise all their food the first year—probably not even the first three years. But it’s a step. And community gardens would help pick up the slack, but you can’t expect success, although I can help with that—drive out once or twice a week with the children. The boys will be old enough next year to pull off tomato worms and things like that.”

  “But with the new baby,” Ralph protested. “I can’t expect you to make that kind of comm—” Silence in the room stopped Ralph mid-sentence. “I—”

  Willow stood and left the room, nearly running for the front door. When she stepped outside without a coat, Chad rose to follow. Ralph started to speak, but Bill shook his head. Once the door shut behind Chad, Bill explained. “I guess they haven’t had a chance to tell you, but Willow lost the baby Christmas Eve.”

  “Oh!” Remorse flooded Ralph. “I didn’t know. How cruel of me.”

  “Don’t. It’s not your fault. You didn’t know,” Becca assured him. “Willow knows and understands. It’s just probably the first time someone has spoken as if the baby was still coming and it took her by surprise.”

  Josh nodded. “I think that as well. She understands.”

  “That doesn’t take away the pain.” Ralph glanced at the board before saying, “I think we should just take a break. What about us making lunch for them?” He glanced at his watch. “What time will Mrs. Tesdall be home with the children?”

  “For dinner. She took them for the whole day so we’d have plenty of time to hash out ideas.” Becca rose. “I think this calls for garlic cheese biscuits with our stew—primarily because they’ll taste good and of course…” She winked at Josh, “it’s the only thing I’ve learned to bake consistently without burning them in that wood thing.”

  Willow stood on the front porch, wrapped in her ruana with her coat buttoned over it all to keep out the cold night air. Her gloved hands gripped the railing as she stared out over the snow-covered pasture. Moonlight, peeked between clouds to brighten little patches here and there, but the darkness of the house, the trees, and the cloudy sky kept her wrapped in a comforting cocoon.

  The door opened, and she waited for Chad’s arms to slip around her, urging her back into bed. She remembered Chad’s shift wouldn’t be over for hours at just the moment she heard Ralph murmur, “Willow?”

  “Oh, hello. For a moment, I assumed you were Chad.”

  “Is he home already?”

  “No… just lost in thought and forgot.”

  “About this morning…”

  Willow turned to him. “I’m so sorry for walking out on you like that. It was that or cry, and I thought—”

  “You don’t need to apologize to me! I wanted to apologize. I’m just so sorry.”

  “You didn’t know,” she reminded him. “How could you? I forgot to mention it.”

  “Well no, I didn’t but I wanted to offer my condolences as well. I know that family is very important to you.” Ralph leaned against a post a few feet away. “I can’t imagine how painful that would be.”

  Her heart constricted. The compulsion to be completely honest about her initial dismay over hearing about the pregnancy warred with her desire to choose to remember the days when she considered the life she carried so briefly to be precious. “It hurts, yes.”

  “I can go if you’d rather be alone…” Ralph stepped away from the post and hesitated.

  “No. Chad thinks I bottle too much in as it is. Having someone to talk to is nice—especially a man who is
n’t grieving too.”

  “Chad seemed pretty shaken up when he left.”

  “I told him I wanted to talk to the doctor about permanent measures to prevent any more pregnancies. He’s not happy.”

  Ralph didn’t respond. Winter nights held different noises than summer ones. She listened as tree branches rubbed against one another, making mournful sounds as if grieving with her. The wind whipped through the trees, almost wailing without the soft rustle of leaves to muffle the sound. Birds didn’t call to their mates, cows and sheep didn’t share greetings with one another, no crickets chirped, and the cicadas slept. The snow acted as soundproofing, making everything quieter—hushed.

  “Is there a reason,” he asked at last, “why you couldn’t try again in a year or two?”

  “Getting pregnant at all was almost miraculous. Losing the baby just made that shock even worse. I don’t want to go through that again.”

  She waited for the protest, the assurance that miscarriage while not “normal” was common enough. The chance of another one so soon wouldn’t be likely—all the things she’d already heard. Ralph stared out over the shadowed landscape before he said, “I can’t imagine that anyone would.”

  “Chad does.” Her tone sounded snappish—bitter. “I don’t—I’m sorry. That came out ugly. I didn’t mean it that way. It’s just that he was so excited about the baby, and I think his solution was to try to get pregnant right away while my body is willing to do it.”

  “I understand that.”

  Willow turned to him and crossed her arms over her chest. “How is that possible? You can’t imagine why I would want to risk another pregnancy and you understand why Chad wants to.”

  Ralph backed into the porch swing and patted the seat beside him. “Let me tell you a story.”

  Something in his tone—a wistfulness—warned her she wouldn’t like what he had to say, but she’d asked him. She’d almost begged him to try to help. With resentful reluctance, she seated herself opposite him and pulled her knees up to her chest. “Okay.”

  “There was once a young and upcoming analyst who fell in love.”

  “Would he happen to have silver hair and kind, blue-hazel eyes?”

  “Blue hazel?”

  Willow nodded. “Yeah… your eyes are blue and brown instead of green and brown like most hazel—blue-hazel.”

  “Okay, yes, he had blue-hazel eyes, but his hair was blonde back then—almost white-blonde since we’re being so descriptive.”

  “I bet you were very popular with the girls. Did you surf? Did you have a nice tan from the Los Angeles sun? I saw surfers when I was at Santa Monica. It’s just incredible how they stand on the board and fly through the waves.”

  “You should try water skiing. It’s a similar feel, but more speed. And yes, I surfed. I had an old woody—long after woodys were popular.”

  “Will you be offended if I don’t know what a ‘woody’ is?”

  His laughter warmed her—comforted her. “It’s a car—very popular in the sixties—not so much in the early eighties. Anyway,” Ralph continued, “After college this man got a good job and met a woman who lived in his apartment building.” That wistful tone returned as Ralph described their dates, the plans he made, and the big proposal he planned. “This was before people went quite as all-out as they do today. I didn’t put it on a ballpark marquee or have an airplane fly over our building. But, I bought a nice ring and asked her to go house hunting with me.”

  Willow smiled as he shifted from third to first person mid-story. “You must have been doing well for yourself. Houses in Los Angeles are so expensive!”

  “I was. I’d narrowed my house options to the three I thought she’d like best and gave the realtor the ring. At the last house, I asked which Anne liked best. She thought the second, but wasn’t sure. I signaled the realtor and he suggested we take a trip back to look at it again.”

  “Smooth.” Willow winked, but realized too late that he wouldn’t see it. It didn’t matter; the story was a good one.

  “Someone had parked in front of the house, so the realtor used that as an excuse to peek inside ahead of us before letting us come in. While inside, he put the ring on the sill of a window she’d liked.”

  His tone changed. Willow couldn’t have defined how, but as he continued describing their walk back through the house, the realtor’s sudden need to check something in the car, and his nervousness, she sensed the end before he could tell her. “Ralph…”

  “Shh… it’s okay. Let me tell it. I have a point to all this. But you’re right; you guessed. She got to the ring, stared at me in shock, and begged me to put it away. I didn’t understand. She’d told me she loved me, and I know she did, but she insisted I wasn’t ready for marriage. ‘You’re married to your work, Ralph. That’s your first and strongest love. I won’t settle for second best.’”

  “No!” Why she felt his disappointment so keenly, Willow couldn’t identify, but her heart constricted. “I’m so sorry.”

  “I was too. I thought she was wrong—nervous. It was too soon. I told her I’d wait. She assured me that she saw in me something that meant she’d never say yes. I’ll never forget her words. ‘I want to say yes so badly, Ralph. You have no idea. But I’d hate you in the end. I’d resent you for not being what I want in a man, and that’s wrong.’”

  “Well, that’s something,” Willow conceded. “I can respect her for knowing herself so well.”

  “She said something else that day. She said, ‘Promise me something. Promise me that before you ever ask someone else to marry you that you’ll think about what it’ll mean to a child to have a father who loves work more than him—more than his mother. Promise me you’ll be honest with yourself before you convince yourself that you’ve changed. Please.’”

  “Ouch.”

  “She was right, Willow. She was so right. I hate to admit it. It kills me to. But after a couple of months of trying to prove to her that I really did care more for her than anyone, I saw what she meant.”

  “And you never—”

  Ralph interrupted quickly. “I loved Anne. She was right,” he hastened to add, “I loved my work more, but I did love her. I just didn’t want anyone else, so I threw myself deeper into my work and invested my paternal leanings in my sister’s kids. It worked too.”

  “You’re close to your nephew, I think.”

  “Yes. Harlan—”

  “Harlan? I have only heard that name in a song.” Willow flushed. “Sorry. Go ahead.”

  “‘…had a friend, big fella, named Big Harlan Taylor…’”

  “That’s the one. Mother hated Roger Miller, but I heard his songs when Mr. McFarland came out. I’d sit in his truck and listen to song after song on his cassettes.”

  “I used to sing that to Harlan. I tried to get him to let me call him Harley, but he’d never do it. He liked being named after my father.”

  Ralph pushed the swing, letting it sway gently in the wind. Willow heard the chill in his voice and suggested they go inside. “Wouldn’t want you to get frostbite.”

  “I’m fine. It’s cold, but I don’t feel chilled. Gotta get used to it sometime.”

  “Well, tell me when you need to. I tend to stay out longer than Chad can stand and he grew up in this area.” She pushed her foot across the swing and nudged Ralph’s leg. “So tell me about Harlan.”

  “He and his sisters—I made sure I had time for them. Went to ball games, recitals, plays, scout trips—everything. I probably muscled in on Carrie and Todd’s time with them, but they didn’t seem to mind.”

  “Your sister and her husband? Carrie and Todd?”

  “Yes, sorry. Anyway, my point is that it’s easy to take the ability to have children—not just fertility but having children in any way—for granted. We don’t all get that option.”

  “Lots of single men adopt these days…”

  “And to what end?” he queried. “I’d just be a workaholic father instead of a workaholic husband and father
.”

  “But if you invested so much in your nephew and nieces…”

  Ralph cleared his throat. “I probably spent as much time with them as some fathers do, but it was on my time schedule. If they were my kids, I bet I would have justified missing things because I’d see them for a few minutes after work every day or we could do it ‘some other time.’ When they’re not yours, it’s sometimes easier to see that someday just isn’t guaranteed and yesterday is gone.”

  “You had a point to this. I think I know it.” Willow forced herself to ask the question she didn’t want to hear the answer to. “What was it?”

  Ralph pushed the swing a few more times before he said, “Just don’t make rash decisions about your future while you’re hurting. You may change your mind. You may not. But most permanent things stay permanent. There are other ways to avoid…”

  “You don’t think I’m wrong to want to?”

  “I think…” Ralph let his words disappear in the cold wind. “I—”

  “It’s okay. I won’t be offended.” She sat up and pushed the swing herself. “I didn’t want to hear it, but now I do. I want to heal—not just get over it.”

  “Okay then. I think wanting to protect yourself against further pain is understandable. I think it’s probably something most mothers go through. I just—” He looked away, out over the dark pasture. “I just think that avoiding pain is also a way to avoid great rewards. You’ve been through labor.”

  “Ugh,” Willow groaned. “Worst night of my life. Pain. Terror. Horrible.”

  “Would you do it again to keep your boys?”

  The question didn’t obliterate her objections. It didn’t convince her to embrace the idea of another baby at all. It did, however, produce the tiniest crack in the wall she’d built between her and future pregnancies. “I see your point, Ralph.”